His Hope in the Darkness
by Rosa Cotton
Summary: Boromir did not anticipate finding the lady of his choice at his birthday ball. But he did. And then she was gone. AU.


Disclaimer: _The Lord of the Rings_, all characters, places, and related terms are the sole property of J. R. R. Tolkien's estate and New Line Cinema.

Author's Note: It has been sometime since I wrote this pair. Writing muses are funny things!

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His Hope in the Darkness

"No!" The word came out a quiet cry, confused and panicked. "Wait!" Boromir's voice rose sharply, though no less distressed. He paid no mind to the shocked protestations of the guests he rudely shoved past, focused on chasing the blond-haired stranger out into the night. He knew not what had occurred moments before, why she had suddenly drawn away with an apology and fled without another word. All he did know was he would not, _could not _stand by and see her go with not a word.

This surprising wonder of a maiden in shimmering gold and purest white: coarse palms hinting of hard work and welding of weapons rather than embroidering and playing of instruments; features unusually cool and fierce which made many guests claim she being only handsome, yet Boromir looked and called her beautiful; her wild, fiery spirit; shoulders weighed by cares, awareness of the threatening darkness; old grey eyes that had seen too much for one so young; voice soft and wistful when recalling her homeland. Shieldmaiden she had called herself. No, she was not like the countless hopeful would-be wives gracing his birthday ball (heavy with expectations, responsibilities, and worries) put together by his scheming father.

Boromir caught up to the stranger at the top of the stairs leading to the banquet hall. With a burst of energy he reached out and caught her wrist. "You can't go yet!" he objected, slightly out of breath.

She whirled to face him, tugging sharply to get free. "You do not understand!" Her eyes blazed, mixed with an odd hint of fear. "I have to go – the hour grows late!"

"Please." Boromir's confusion was growing, yet he willed his voice to be low and calm. "It is not yet midnight. If I overstepped—" he broke off as she instantly shook her head.

"You don't understand!" she repeated in a near whisper, eyes darting between him and the staircase. "Even I wish to – I, I cannot simply...stay."

Some of the tension eased from Boromir's shoulders, and he smiled down at her. To learn the lady had been affected by tonight just as unexpectedly, as deeply, as Boromir had been filled him with new hope. Carefully he reached out for her free hand and gently drew her towards him. Warmth washed over him as she allowed him to pull her until there were only a few inches between them. Her cheeks flushed as her eyes flickered searchingly over his face, and he prayed she found what she sought. Holding her gaze, he raised their joined hands before bending down to brush a tender kiss over the slender hands in his.

He was a soldier, not a poet, and struggled to find words to convey his new-found desire. "Please," he requested, squeezing his eyes shut, his breath a caress against the stranger's cold trembling hands, "I would have you stay here. With me." _Forever,_ he silently added.

He felt the maiden press his hands tightly and sensed her lean toward him a little. Boromir kissed her hands again, a lingering, joyful kiss this time, his beard scraping her skin lightly, believing he had succeeded as the clock started striking midnight.

His bliss was jarringly shattered when the maiden violently wrenched her hands away without warning. "What – why?" he sputtered, straightening, his hands tightening into fists, the rejection hurting more than any he had experienced.

His ire deflated at the torn expression he saw on the lady's face, something like heartbreak in her eyes as she stared at him while stumbling back - as though faced with the possibilities of a major turn in her life, and she knew not whether to deny it or embrace it.

"I...I can't," the words were strained, and then she was gone, flying down the stairs as though orcs were at her heels.

Boromir swallowed back the pain at this abandonment and gave chase once more, unwilling to let her just vanish as mysteriously as she had appeared. He would seek an explanation - and her name. But she was unpredictably fast, and upon his reaching the bottom of the stairs, the shadowy courtyard to his dismay was empty and silent. No sign of her could Boromir discover.

Pacing at the bottom of the staircase, his mind in a whirl, Boromir eventually realized he clenched something in one of his hands. Slowly uncurling his fist, he gasped at the simple silver band, adorned with a small emerald. Wonderingly he traced a finger over the ring, a sad smile touching his face; he had claimed a memento from his fair maiden after all.

Gradually Boromir's expression changed to one of determination. Closing his fingers over the ring, he pressed it to his heart. Yea, he would answer the call issued by Aragorn, a ranger of the North and Gondor's long-awaited king, follow and fight beside him in this war against the gathering powers of darkness. And after, whether the world had fallen and all was lost, or hope prevailed and the enemy was conquered, Boromir would search the whole of Middle-Earth for the ring's owner, _and find her_. How could he not? Not after at last finding someone he could see, longed for to be at his side, in all things. So he would keep her ring by his heart, her memory with him in the long days ahead. In these uncertain times, she would be his hope in the darkness: to one day see his shieldmaiden again.

THE END


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